Broken and Bloodthirsty
by RisingWinter
Summary: Duo is terrible-awful at coping. Quatre gets the brunt end of it after a reckless mission-gone-wrong.


Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing

Duo ran through indiscernible halls of metal and concrete, whose walls held dozens and dozens of identical doors with only serial numbers to set them apart. He risked a glance behind him to the sounds of shouting guards and soldiers following behind. Their booted footsteps sounded like rolling thunder against the hard ground.

"Who knew you people had such enthusiastic security?" he muttered to himself.

He tossed a flash grenade behind him and pulled his propeller out of its holster on his leg. Aiming for the only window on this floor, he threw himself outside.

The glass gave way on impact, shattering around him and nicking his exposed arms. Something caught in his braid and Duo felt an agonizing rip before he was left free to the merciless reaches of the sky.

He activated his propeller and slowed his freefall into a gradual descent.

Flinched as strands of his hair floated freely in the open air and getting nicked by his propeller. His elastic must have given way.

An explosion went off behind, the shockwave of it sending him spiraling. The world spun and his limbs toppled about him until he slammed into the dirt with the force of a crashing jet plane.

Once he'd flopped onto his back in the dirt, it took a long moment for him to regain his bearings with the ringing ears and splitting headache and all.

He was caught between feeling gratitude and resentment for his enhancements – he could have died a lot faster if it weren't for those. On the other hand, he was still alive and he felt a thrill of relieved surprise at that.

Once he found the strength to sit up, a different kind of chill ran down his spine at the hair that spilled over his shoulder. It barely reached halfway down his back, and what remained was choppy to the point of being _messy_.

He pulled it straight, fingers working out the knots and tangles. He should run, but the horrific sight was enough to keep him frozen to the spot, working to get his hair braided again. Eventually, he worked up the strength to stand, though he kept his fingers in his hair.

In the distance, he heard the telling wail of sirens, whose calls signaled the approach of reinforcements.

Duo broke into a run, stumbling over debris and upturned dirt as he made his way back to the path he'd come in by. The tunnel was close, and if he could get out the other end, he'd lose himself in the mass of humanity that was civilization and not even the government could track him there.

Branches whipped at his face, leaving stinging scrapes in their wake, and his arm throbbed like the devil, thanks to the dirt and whatever else had gotten in there.

But those had nothing on the panic clawing at his stomach at the thought of his ruined hair. He kept it gripped tightly in one hand as if it would fall out without his help as he sprinted toward the tunnel entrance.

The approaching forest lent him the cover he needed to stay out of sight – his clothes were dark enough to be camouflaged by their shadows depths – and he glanced behind him to find no pursuit. Not yet, at least. The broken window was all they needed to track him down, and he hadn't covered his tracks like he should have.

A shout followed him, along with a bang. Something grazed his leg and Duo yelped.

He hopped to keep his legs off the ground while blood seeped into the hem of his pantleg. More shots fired while he zigzagged through trees to avoid the hail of bullets.

The forest floor provided a plethora of twigs and stuff that threatened to trip him. He wasn't a big fan of that, so he tried to move carefully, but that would only go far when the ground was all but made of underbrush.

Duo didn't like Earth. Things tended to get in the way more down here. It was too natural, with its imperfect foliage and grass.

He made out a cry of shock behind him and someone called, "It's a Pilot!"

Right. Because being a former gundam pilot was enough to mark him as dangerous? He decided to take that as a compliment to his work he'd done with Deathscythe, but geez. There were so many former pilots.

Wait – how did they get his face?

Duo tossed another flash bomb – his last – and threw himself down the camouflaged tunnel he'd marked with a simple stick that stuck up in the ground near it. The blast of the bomb was enough to throw up leaves and dirt in his wake, and he activated the land mine to completely cover his escape

With a click of the button in his pocket, the nearby blast was enough to blow earth and rock his way, some small pebbles smacking him in the back while the explosion set his ears ringing.

Shouts of frustration and confusion muffled behind him as Duo slid to a halt in the tunnel. No sunlight made it down here and the slope ended after a few short feet. For the next half a mile or so, he could only move on in the dark and hope they didn't catch up.

He tried not to think about how long the place had been here, given some of the rust that sprawled across the metal surface. For now, he let go of his hair and jogged his way through, keeping to the front of his feet to minimize sound. As it was, the quiet tapping against the metal caused a slight echo up and down the tube.

Duo hated walking. It was slow and opened the window for someone to catch him. But not walking made it a big window anyway. He picked his poison. He kept running.

The way his hair hit his back made him ill – it wasn't quite as heavy as he was used to, and the bouncy freeness of it was something he hadn't felt in _years_.

Eventually he burst through the opening on the other side, which near blinded him with sun. It let out into a park, which reminded him to duck out of sight. Given the height of the sun in the sky, it was still midday, and the place was full of civilians going about their everyday lives. Duo smiled at the sight – he hoped to find some time to visit the place this week.

He passed through the park and on toward the city center where he found a map of the general city and used that to get to the train station.

The path from here to home would be a long one, but Duo couldn't make out any signs that he was followed. Found the car he'd borrowed on the other side of town and took that off toward the outskirts.

He parked beside their little rundown shack that looked like something forgotten by an evacuated family. The walls were discolored and overrun by vines, with junk metal and scraps littering the yard. Hardly the example of excellence, but only Quatre cared about that kind of stuff. This gave them a nice camouflage to hide under.

He jogged up to the door and knocked twice, then three times. Silence greeted him, and he jimmied the lock to find himself in the dark solitude of his residence he shared with the other pilots. The curtains were all drawn, blocking out most of the light, but Duo didn't need that to find the bathroom.

Stepping into the isolated room, he found the mirror and a small part of him refused to believe the sight of it. Choppy locks fell from his head, some of it ripped close to his scalp. He brushed it out, using an occasional spritz of water to keep it easy to work, and wondered how long it would take to recover. At least a couple of years, if he wanted just a couple of feet.

Despite his skirmish, most locks felt soft and strong between his fingers. He broke out dried dirt and grime from the edges and rubbed at the sweat-slick strands closer to his face.

Once it was all smoothed out, he started braiding. As he twisted it all together, string and chunks slipped free of his fingers, too short to lock into the interweave. He undid the whole and restarted, swallowing a lump forming in his throat as he did so.

Hair continued to slip free and he grit his teeth against the heat rising in his face. Eventually he gave in and tied off despite it looking like something a witch would wear, with broken edges and stray strands all over the place.

He stared into the mirror for a long time, angling his head to get different perspectives on it in the vague hope that it would look fine if he stared at it long enough. Nothing worked – he couldn't convince himself that it looked anything like what he had before.

Duo cast look around him, some part of him believing that there would be something he could use to fix it. Maybe hair gel to keep the loose strands down, or extra bands. He found some elastics in the drawer – the stash he used when he lost them in battle – and added them to the loosest ends.

It didn't change much.

Frustrated, he ripped them back out, leaving only the elastic at the end. Staring himself down, he surmised that looking like a witch was appropriate for him. Witches were outcasts with power over life and death. If Duo became a witch, then all the better for him.

He went and found the first bottle of liquor he could and downed the contents in one long sip that burned like hell on the way down. Got another one. Threw himself into a chair at the table and pulled his communicator from its hidden place on the underside of the surface before taking another swig. The screen showed no messages against the star-dotted background.

With a hiccup, Duo kicked back and leaned against the chair like it wouldn't fall right out from under him. He tapped his bottle of wine against the table and hummed, remembering when he last broke into a bar and stole half their stash of wine without realizing that it was the fancy stuff. He could have sold those bottles and used the money to buy his way out of the gundam life.

He took another burning sip.

Not that Professor G or the others would have let him.

Another drink from the bottle.

Besides, if the rich folk earned the right to drink, didn't he, too, for keeping their sorry butts out of the war?

"Aren't you a little young for that?" Quatre asked from the doorway.

Duo jumped and almost threw the bottle at his friend before he realized who it was. How did he sneak up on him like that?

He spared Quatre a suffering glance before falling back into his chair and tossing the emptied bottle at the trash. It landed square in and somehow didn't shatter. "Nah," he said. "That's impossible for us. Not that you would know."

Quatre glanced where the bottle landed. "First year After Colony," he said with raised eyebrows. "Where did you manage to get that from? A museum?"

Duo shrugged. "Maybe. I thought you didn't drink?"

"I don't." Quatre took the spot opposite him and pulled out his own communicator. Despite the faint haze that slowed Duo's brain, he noticed irritated scabs and scrapes crisscrossing Quatre's exposed skin. Fresh, too.

Quatre tapped his screen and sighed. "But I know the difference between spirits, thanks to Instructor H. I'm surprised you didn't get the entire Alliance to chase you down for that thing."

"They may have done," Duo said, turning his attention to the ceiling. "But who knows for sure? It was a while ago and that whole night's kinda fuzzy to me."

"Imagine that." Quatre went quiet for a moment and Duo felt the other man's eyes dig into his skull. "Did something happen today?"

Duo gave him a look that he hoped spelled out, _no sappiness allowed_. Quatre glanced between him and his braid. "You tell me," Duo bit out. "You're the one with the engineered brain and all that empathy stuffed in you."

"It's… different than that. But yes, I can tell you're perturbed."

"That's not the word I would use."

"Then what?"

"Angry as-"

"That's more than one."

"Would you _quit_ that?" Duo hissed, slamming his chair back onto its front legs. "All that condescending _shit_! I hate it!"

Quatre blinked and nodded. "Sorry."

"You should be!"

A tense moment passed, and Duo shoved away from the table with a curse and paced the kitchen.

"The orphanage," Quatre said at length. "You didn't know about OZ. Is that where you went today?"

"… Who told you?"

Quatre let out air through his nose in what had to be the tiniest laugh Duo had ever heard. "The brush clinging to your not-uniform told me that."

Duo shook his head, causing the room to spin for a moment. "I shouldn't have been there," he hissed, pausing his steps. "It's my fault my friends are dead."

"No." Quatre stood. "It's _OZ's_ fault."

Duo waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah. People like to tell themselves that, don't they? It's not really your fault. It's not your friend's fault. It's not your mom's fault. Can't blame your dog, either. Why do we do that? Why don't we just accept responsibility where it's due?"

Quatre hardened his eyes into a glare. "Because it isn't due here."

"Psh." Duo resumed pacing. "Keep telling yourself that."

"I tell it to myself _because it's true_." Quatre flipped his communicator onto its side with a thud. "Finding more trouble will only make matters worse for yourself."

Duo paused at the quiver in Quatre's voice. "That whole thing with Wing Zero was different."

"Was it?" Quatre stood and strode Duo's way before grabbing his braid. "How is _this_ different?"

Duo slapped Quatre's hand away. "It just _is_!"

"I've never seen you like this before." Quatre didn't advance further and instead gestured with pleading, open palms. It reminded Duo of Sister Helen after he would come back bruised and broken from fights in the streets. "You're getting reckless!"

"Am not!" Duo shoved Quatre back and the kid reacted as if he'd been slapped, face paling and eyes widening before he slowly retracted his hands and leaned back. Memories of explosions and burning bodies filled his mind and Duo _lunged_.

Quatre put up his hands in what looked like a placating gesture, but Duo ducked and tackled him to the ground. They crashed to the tile.

Duo scrambled on top of the guy and raised a fist, but Quatre rammed his palms into Duo's chest and lifted him out of reach. Duo snaked an arm between Quatre's and forced himself down again.

"What am I supposed to do, huh?" Duo demanded, throwing his fist at Quatre's face. The kid blocked it. "Forget?"

"Don't hurt yourself!" Quatre gripped Duo's hand tight with both of his and looked up with reddening eyes. "Please!"

Duo punched his free hand into Quatre's chest, forcing a cry of pain from the guy. "Then _what_?" His blood raced, and breath came in shuddering heaves.

"Think about something else!" Quatre threw Duo off and scrambled to his feet, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. "Whatever this is, it hurts!"

Duo growled and swept out Quatre's legs from under him, only for Quatre to roll out of the way. "Tell me about it!"

Quatre caught another blow. "Sandy dunes," he whispered.

Duo ignored him and advanced. Quatre pushed him back and Duo spun and caught him by the throat.

Quatre struggled under his hold and said, "Sun high in the sky, beating against your hat."

Duo hesitated but kept his grip. "What are you talking about?"

"Imagine it." Quatre stilled against him. "Hot sand under your feet with a warm breeze sweeping through the fabric of your clothes, brushing against your skin."

"Have you gone crazy?"

"The scent of home and nice things that mean false security."

Duo tightened his grip and Quatre choked. "Stop… _saying_ that!"

The kid struggled and clawed at Duo's grip while strangled sounds escaped his throat. Duo knew it would take minutes for damage to take effect, though his instincts told him he only had to hold him for a matter of seconds.

Quatre took hold of Duo by the wrists and flipped him onto his back.

Duo hit the ground and lost the ability to breathe for a split second. Quatre threw himself on top with the might of a boulder, further knocking the wind from Duo's lungs. He tried to yell in protest, but it came out as garbled sound.

Quatre twisted his legs about Duo's in a martial hold and kept his head close by Duo's, too low to be easily repelled.

Duo struggled, blood surging with the instinct of battle. He wanted to rip Quatre's head from his neck and send it rolling on the ground.

And something about that image had him draw up short. His blood stilled.

Duo groaned and fought against Quatre's hold. "Fine, I get it – you can get off me now."

"Are you sure?" The kid hesitantly pulled himself off and took a seat on the ground beside Duo. "You still look red."

Duo pulled himself to his feet, parts of him aching from the struggle. "Killing you isn't worth it. I've got enough friendly blood on my hands. What was that nonsense you were spouting? Distraction technique?"

"It was," Quatre admitted, scratching his head. "Kind of. It's a meditative technique that Instructor H taught me, and I thought it might help."

Duo snarled, arms shaking with the dissipating adrenaline. "Bull crap."

"It doesn't work for everyone." Quatre slumped forward and rubbed at his eyes. "But it keeps my head clear. Focused. Keeps my movements precise. And from puking when I kill someone."

The house moaned with a burst of wind that rattled the windows and Duo looked to see clouds gathered on the horizon, the atmosphere turned grey and dark. His head felt light. "Fine," he said at length. "I won't go blow up another North American base without permission."

Quatre shot his head up. "You did what?"

Duo waved a hand. "I'm kidding! It was a South Asian base."

"Of course." Quatre twitched a smile. "Yes. That feels better."

Since did he care if Quatre felt better? "Should have gotten that ripped out of you," Duo muttered.

Quatre paused. "What's it like without it, though? How do you talk to people when you can't feel what they feel?"

"You guess."

Quatre shuddered. "You're joking, right? Don't you have methods to determine reactions and such?"

Duo shook his head and slumped against the wall, fatigue catching up with him. "Nah, man. You just watch their body language, I guess. Some people don't even do that – we call them douchebags. You know, like Heero."

"Oh." Quatre pursed his lips. "If it's that hard, I can see why."

"It's not efficient to worry about that," Duo said with a wave of his hand. "Not for us. I don't know why the big men haven't tried to get that defect out of you."

"Probably because it would kill me." Quatre hid his head behind a hand that reached for his scalp. "I'm too valuable to kill."

"Damn right you are." Duo made for the kitchen. "C'mon – you made me hungry. I'll make something."

He didn't miss Quatre's goofy smile at that.


End file.
